


Janus

by harmony_bites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Darkfic, Drama, F/M, alternatue universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-09
Updated: 2006-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmony_bites/pseuds/harmony_bites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Snape proves twice over, appearances can be deceiving, and handsome is as handsome does. Each school year is represented with two vignettes of 500 words each. The first scene in any chapter tracks canon up through <i>Half-Blood Prince</i>. The second scene in each chapter is an alternate universe showing the other side of the coin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Year: The Philosopher's Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: © 2005 harmony bites. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by J.K. Rowling or any other lawful holder.
> 
> A/N: Snape's birthdate, as given by Rowling, marks the festival of Janus. Janus is the Roman god of beginnings and the guardian of gates and doors and was frequently used to symbolize change and transitions such as from one universe to another.
> 
> Each school year is represented with two vignettes of 500 words each. The first scene in any chapter tracks canon. The second scene in each chapter is an alternate universe showing the other side of the coin.
> 
> Thanks to Djinn, Southern_Witch_69, and Bambu for their betas. First posted in 2006 before _Deathly Hallows_.

_“Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?”_  
 **– Quirrell, _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_**

_“Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act?”_  
 **– Snape, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_**

**Chapter One**

First Year: The Philosopher’s Stone

 

~o0o~

 

Hermione Granger crept down the stairs to the dungeons, feeling as if each step was shutting her away from the summer above—maybe forever. She’d left Harry and Ron at the top of the stairs shaking their heads. They’d told her she was mental for thinking they should apologise to the “disgusting bat” for having suspected him. Ron had said forgiving, let alone apologising to, Snape “went against Weasley tradition.” Harry had been especially adamant; he’d told her that discovering Snape had only been trying to protect him from Quirrell changed nothing between them.

The door to the dungeons lay open, and through it she saw vials and books packing themselves into cases courtesy of a nonchalant sweep of Snape’s wand. He didn’t look up as, with his other hand, he stirred a cauldron from which wafted a pungent stink. In a strange way, the nasty smell made it easier. It was hard to find surroundings sinister when you only wanted to pinch your nose and go “pee eww.”

She swallowed hard. Ron, having grown up among wizards, saw just a “bat,” but to Hermione, Snape was so much worse. He had long, black, greasy hair, a hooked nose, yellowish skin, and teeth almost as yellow and so crooked they would have been quite the challenge for her dentist parents to straighten. Add to that the black frock coat, which was now clothing his scarecrow body, the fathomless, beetle-black eyes … Honestly, the man lacked only a wart at the end of his nose to look the very picture of a stereotypical witch. He looked the part far more than McGonagall, really.

And Hermione was still scared of witches of a certain kind. She could only think of the Wizard of Oz. There were good witches and bad witches. And while McGonagall wasn’t exactly Glinda, Snape would make a splendid Wicked Witch of the West.

“S-Sir,” she said from just inside the doorway.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” Snape said—still without looking up—as if he neither needed outer sight to know who she was, nor considered her presence worthy of further acknowledgement from him.

She took her hand from the stone wall she’d leaned against and suppressed an urge to wipe it on her robe. It wasn’t sweat coating her palm; even the walls inside his classroom were as slimy as he was. “I … I,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“I … I.” His tone was savage.

That was a mistake—instead of causing her to be intimidated, it quenched her fears in a wave of anger. She straightened her back, jutted her chin out, and glared at him as she said, “I wanted to apologise for setting you on fire. I thought it was you hexing Harry.”

She spun on her heel and wasn’t two metres from the door when she stopped in astonishment. She thought she’d heard a sputtering sound that turned into a rich laughter.

But that warm, liquid sound couldn’t possibly come from Snape.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger crept through the Forbidden Forest, trying to keep Snape and Harry in sight. Even with dappled sunlight warming her skin and rich, floral scents rising all around, the dense woods still felt threatening. The chirping birds didn’t make her feel more cheerful either.

She frowned. Though Harry idolised the Potions master, she never could bring herself to warm to him, even after it had been Quirrell who had been revealed as You-Know-Who’s minion. Besides, they’d never found the Philosopher’s Stone, and when she’d questioned that, Harry had gone really quiet—Harry was hiding something.

At least the jewel-bright silks Snape favoured made it easy to keep them in sight. Despite his robes being green, the garish chartreuse shade didn’t blend in well. As she got closer, she crouched lower, finally almost crawling to get as close as possible to hear what they were saying. She winced as a twig under her broke with a loud snap, but it didn’t catch their attention, so intent were they on each other.

She peered carefully around an immense oak and started at how close they were. She could see the flash of Snape’s white, even teeth framed by his neatly trimmed beard as he grinned and tousled Harry’s hair. Snape smiled so easily, but Hermione noticed the smiles never reached his shuttered eyes. She gasped when she saw the blood-red stone Harry took out of a pocket and shyly offered to Snape. It couldn’t be …

Snape and Harry parted then, and without thinking, when Harry passed her hiding place, she called out and ran to meet him. At the glint of his green eyes, she stopped short, taken a bit aback.

“Harry, what did you just give to Snape?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“God, Hermione, after all that’s happened, you still suspect him? Don’t you trust me?”

“Dumbledore—”

“—is happy to leave me at the Dursleys. Severus would take me if he could. You know he knew Mum?” Harry’s voice grew excited; his eyes shone as he spoke about what Snape had told him of his mother, then narrowed and grew hard at her stiff expression. “You can’t possibly understand!” he shouted. “You have a family that loves you.”

She thought she did understand. She’d overheard Dumbledore talking to McGonagall. “Harry,” he’d said, “would be drawn to anyone who offered him a home or presented himself as a father figure, no matter how insincerely meant.”

Somehow she knew they had been talking about Snape, whom they both evidently distrusted. Hagrid didn’t trust the Potions master either, and he had good instincts. But Harry made it known he resented their attitudes all the more bitterly since he’d felt tricked into picking Gryffindor over Slytherin.

She knew Ron also felt uneasy even if he wasn’t willing to argue with Harry about it. What could they say about everyone’s favourite teacher? Except, however Snape might act, things always seemingly turned out to his advantage with others always paying the price.  



	2. Second Year: The Chamber of Secrets

**Chapter Two**

Second Year: The Chamber of Secrets

 

~o0o~

 

Hermione Granger’s eyes first came into focus on a watermark on the ceiling. She traced cracks with her gaze until a face looming over her blocked her view. It should have been a frightening face to wake up to. Certainly, unlike her recent crush, Gilderoy Lockhart, no one would nominate Snape’s crooked, tired smile for _Witch Weekly_ , but it struck her as far more real.

She had a minute to take in the stubble on his cheeks and the bloodshot eyes gazing into hers with concern. She wondered how she had ever found those eyes cold. Her mother had a favourite saying: “we call a man cold when he is only sad.” As soon as Snape noticed her looking back at him, he turned away, calling Madam Pomfrey in a rasping voice quite unlike his usual smooth baritone.

Minutes later, Hermione was able to lift her head. Pomfrey propped her up with pillows before making her drink a foul potion that made her cough. Soon after, she felt well enough to sit up and swing her legs over the bed. Her attempt to stand almost sent her crashing to the floor, but strong arms caught her and lifted her back to the bed.

“Again, Gryffindor bravado trumps all common sense. Stupid girl. You’ve been abed for weeks.”

She returned Snape’s scowl with a smile. In his anger, he’d sounded like her father had right after she had taken a nasty spill from her bike and broken her wrist. “Are Harry and Ron fine?” Hermione asked. “The Basilisk! How long have I been—”

“Why,” Snape muttered, “did we ever Unpetrify her? We should, at least, have waited ’til we found a way to stopper her mouth.”

Hermione spotted Lockhart in a bed across from her. She gasped. “Is the professor hurt?”

Snape harrumphed and stalked away. When Pomfrey told her how Lockhart had come by his injuries—and his stolen fame—Hermione reddened. Some hero.

“Pretty is as pretty does—especially in the wizarding world, girl—or did you really think those glam looks of his natural?”

“But if you can change your appearance, why would any wizard choose to be ugly?”

“Why would a Muggle neglect his appearance? It’s no different here. And we have far more near-at-hand and powerful remedies. Some people, child, are like a neglected house—they don’t bother cleaning up because they are barely there, or do not think it worth the trouble, or are too busy. Sometimes it’s even out of a wish to punish themselves or keep people away.” Pomfrey sounded sad as she said it, and then her tone hardened as she glanced towards where Lockhart lay abed. “And some do nothing but decorating and dressing up to cover up a rotten foundation.”

She wondered then about changing herself—her big teeth, her bushy hair. She wondered if she was Cinderella after all—and whether anyone would ever bother kissing Snape to see if they could turn the frog into a prince.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger scowled as Snape put a friendly hand on Harry’s shoulder. She nibbled at her chocolate gateau, wondering if she had lost her taste for sweets—that would make her parents happy, anyway. She toyed with what was left until Ron asked if she was going to eat more. She shrugged and pushed the plate towards him, and he dived into it.

Her doubts about Snape had only deepened, but she’d learned over this year not to take her concerns to Harry. The last time had only caused him to cut her dead for weeks, and she hardly had a friend to spare.

She glanced up at the green and silver of the Slytherin banners decorating the leaving feast and wondered if she would ever get to see the Great Hall decorated with Gryffindor red and gold instead. She wondered why she had ever thought Gryffindor glorious and wished she had accepted the Hat’s offer of Ravenclaw instead. She might have fit in better there.

The way the Slytherins were cheering at Dumbledore’s speech, you’d think it had been one of their own that had tamed the Basilisk with Parseltongue and closed the Chamber of Secrets. Mind, Harry’s actions had made everyone in the Houses other than Slytherin uneasy, despite his rescue of Ginny Weasley.

She didn’t like the way Malfoy blew her a mocking kiss from the Slytherin table. He and Harry had become chummy over the last year, encouraged by Snape in his efforts to “ease the old House rivalries.” She wasn’t sure where that left her, though. Over the past year, as she had felt the ties of House loosen, she had come to feel less Gryffindor, less a witch, and more a Muggle-born.

Or as Malfoy would whisper for only her to hear—a “Mudblood.” She wondered sometimes why she even held on to her friendship with Harry or why he bothered with her. It wasn’t anything he said exactly, just a look of distaste here or some shared laughter with a pure-blood there, that made her think he was looking at her a different way. Less like a friend, more like … a pet?

She felt a prickling at the back of her neck. She looked up to find Snape smiling down at her. Oh, it was a nice smile, yet she still wondered how she could have ever found it or that hawkish face handsome. He leaned down and whispered, so near his breath tickled her ear, “Why, Miss Granger, you don’t seem to be getting into the spirit of the festivities.”

She shivered, but forced herself to turn and look up to meet his gaze. “I wish Harry had destroyed the Basilisk, instead of sending it back.”

“You’d choose to kill?”

“Sometimes you have to slay the monster. What if it comes back?”

“Indeed.” His caressing voice seemed to savour the thought. “Fear can be an effective control, don’t you think?”

For a moment, his voice froze her like the Basilisk’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** The quote is from Longfellow—“often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”


	3. Third Year: The Prisoner of Azkaban

**Chapter Three**

Third Year: The Prisoner of Azkaban

~o0o~

 

Hermione Granger had always believed that Professor Snape had been born in a black frockcoat and then wrapped in matching robes. So, when she realised who sat beneath the elm by the lake, she felt both amusement and the almost-horror of a world turned upside down.

At least he kept to the monochrome theme, black trousers and a white cambric shirt, open enough to actually show skin, which in the light of day still looked pale, but without that yellowish tinge. He had one sleeve rolled up and was staring at his forearm. He looked far younger and vulnerable, like a turtle without his shell. He must have felt the same because as soon as she came into view, he jumped up and began shrugging into his robes. A shame—because he had such broad shoulders and—

Oh, bugger. She was perving on a teacher? _This_ teacher?

“Come to gloat, Miss Granger?”

“Sir?”

“Since you’re smiling at me, you must have come to gloat. Or am I to be graced with another apology? Let’s see, first year you set me on fire, second year you stole Boomslang skin from my stores—don’t deny it—I saw you in the hospital wing looking like Bulstrode’s cat. And now you’ve knocked me out cold. Whatever will you do for an encore?”

“You wouldn’t listen.”

“Did it ever occur to you, Miss Granger, that if you had deferred to me, I could have got all of you safely to Hogwarts—including Pettigrew? Things could have got sorted out, but you—”

“You’d have fed Sirius to a Dementor.”

“But I didn’t, did I? I brought Black back with us rather than to the gates to meet his proper fate.” He raised an eyebrow and then just looked at her smugly the way he did whenever he’d stumped a student.

She frowned. “It’s like with Neville’s toad. You’re a Potions master who can just look at a concoction to know if we’ve done it right. You knew it wasn’t poison we’d be feeding to his pet. Why do you always want to seem so much worse than you are?”

He scowled. “If you think I make empty threats, Miss Granger … I do not have to explain my teaching methods to you—and the only reason you’re not putting Gryffindor into negative numbers is because school is over for the year, we’re technically off school grounds, and I am far too tired to deal with a know-it-all outside of the classroom. Good day to you.”

She shook her head as he strode away. She’d never thought he had a teaching method beyond plain bullying. She wasn’t sure she bought that now. But for whatever reason, she realised, she’d lost all her fear of Snape. Whether it was the glimpse of body or soul he’d let peek through, for the first time, she’d seen just a man. It might make him a little easier to cope with, even if she doubted she’d ever understand him.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger listened to Ron’s uneven breathing as she held her vigil in the hospital wing. Even in his sleep, he held her hand too tightly, but she made no effort to loosen his sweaty grip. She didn’t want to wake him. Let him sleep as long as he could before waking up to this nightmare. Though the bandages covered them, she could still see in her mind’s eye the terrible gashes on his leg made by the werewolf’s teeth.

Made by Lupin. Macnair would be executing Lupin tomorrow the same way he had put down Buckbeak—like an animal.

And Ron. Oh, God. Ron would be a werewolf now, too.

“This is your fault.”

She turned and saw Harry beside her, eyes narrowed and voice dangerously, hissingly soft. She hadn’t even heard his quiet approach. He seemed to get more and more like his mentor with each week. And there was no way she thought being more like Snape was a good thing.

Her hand squeezed in reaction, and Ron moaned in his sleep, releasing her hand and rolling to his side. She stood up to face Harry. If there was one thing she had learned about Slytherins—and that’s what she considered Harry now, whatever his supposed House—it was to never show fear.

At least there was no danger she’d burst into tears. She was long cried out. It had been a terrible year. They had lost Neville in a Potions accident last month. No one blamed Snape, except her. He’d never kept after Neville like he should have. She’d tried to keep watch, but he’d separated them. She still felt sick about that, as if there was something she could have done. Some part of her wondered if Harry was right, if she was to blame for Ron, too.

“Not here, Harry, not now.”

“Ron followed your lead. If—”

“Snape wouldn’t listen. He—”

“ _Professor_ Snape to you. What was there to listen to? Sirius Black murdered my family, and there was Lupin all chummy with him with some ludicrous tale about Scabbers being Pettigrew. Just thank Merlin that you and Ron didn’t really hurt Severus with that _Expelliarmus_ , or I could never forgive you.”

“We just knocked him out—that hex you used on Black—”

“What else was I supposed to do after you did that to Severus, leaving us alone with those murderers? You should be down on your knees thanking me for saving your life and begging my forgiveness!”

“What if Black really was innocent?” She continued on despite his scornful puff of air at that. “He’s worse than dead, Harry. You left him helpless, and the Dementors sucked out his soul.”

“I’m not sorry.” It scared her that he didn’t try to hide his smile. “But it’s not just that. You knew what Lupin was, didn’t you? And said nothing. You’ve a talent for trusting the wrong people.”

He was right.

She used to trust Harry. Now, she feared him.

* * *


	4. Fourth Year: The Goblet of Fire

**Chapter Four**

Fourth Year: The Goblet of Fire

~o0o~

 

Hermione Granger stood at the open window of the hospital wing. The scent of roses carried by the breeze, and the beauty of a warm, starlit night struck her as obscene after all that had happened—after Cedric’s death and Harry’s torture at Voldemort’s hands.

She watched Snape as he left the grounds, not taking her eyes off him as long as she could see him. For a moment, he’d turned back to look towards the castle, lingering. She imagined he was looking for her at the window—sheer fantasy, especially after his cruel remark months ago when she had been hit by that hex. The bastard had said it deliberately, knowing how she felt about—had been coming to feel about—him. She was sure of it. Maybe because he _had_ known?

But face it, if she truly no longer cared, why had she picked Viktor Krum of all people to give her first kiss to? Snape-lite. Viktor might look like Snape, but there was no real darkness behind Viktor’s scowls—nor could he match Snape’s sharp wit and fierce intelligence.

Harry hadn’t had time to tell them what had transpired in the last few hours, but she had seen Snape reveal his Dark Mark, had heard Dumbledore’s words to him: “If you are ready … If you are prepared.”

It wasn’t hard for someone with half a brain to figure out what Dumbledore had been asking, and Hermione prided herself on her intelligence as well as the courage that was the mark of her House. Yet what Snape was returning to was far more than what she’d be ready or prepared to do. She watched him walk to his fate and thought it ironic that it wasn’t a Gryffindor who was the bravest person she knew. Dumbledore was right, after all. It was your choices that made you and not just the ones at eleven-years old while you sit under the Sorting Hat.

It didn’t make Snape any kinder. She guessed what made one a good or an evil man wasn’t simple or a choice that was closed for once or for all.

Suddenly, she noticed a familiar beetle with red markings crawling on the sill. She slammed down her hand and scooped it up, making a cage of her hands. Mrs Weasley and Harry turned to her.

“Sorry,” she whispered, for much more than startling them. This was no time for moping and wool-gathering. She held quite a prize, of which only she knew the significance. She left Harry, who’d finally closed his eyes to sleep, to search for a jar. It was time for her and Miss Skeeter to have a little talk.

Maybe she couldn’t serve the cause with Gryffindor bravery tonight. But a kind of Ravenclaw books and cleverness, and even some Slytherin deviousness had great value, too. And if Snape showed one thing, it was that you didn’t lose access to the qualities of the other Houses at the drop of a hat.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger stood by Harry’s bedside as Snape strode forward, past her and Mrs Weasley, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Dumbledore.

“There,” said Snape. “Satisfied? No Dark Mark. I don’t serve Voldemort. I call no man master.” He pushed his sleeve back down angrily.

No, Snape served only himself. Hermione put a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder to quiet him. He was visibly upset at what he could only see as an attack on the man he considered a father. After what he’d undergone tonight, she had no wish to add to his burden.

They had repaired quite a bit of their relationship this year, brought together in the common goal of making Ron’s affliction as easy as possible.

They’d even struggled, without much success yet, to become Animagi since Lupin had claimed that his friends’ companionship as animals during his time of month had helped so much. She smiled despite the circumstances, seeing the humour in that way of putting it. No one had accused her yet of turning into a monster at a certain time of month.

Ron liked to joke that he’d now finally accomplished something none of his brothers had achieved. He acted far less the clown now, and part of her felt sad at the necessity. As the three of them had pulled together, Malfoy and Harry had fallen away again to her great relief.

Ironic that they’d learned tonight that Black and Lupin had been telling the truth. Harry had seen Pettigrew among the Death Eaters. She had seen it cost Harry a lot to admit that. She couldn’t imagine his feelings when he had time to reflect on how he had contributed to the death of his godfather and another of his father’s closest friends. She could only hope it would make Harry wonder about how Snape had manipulated him. She’d been surprised the Headmaster had allowed her and Ron in when he’d questioned Harry, but besides saving questions later, she had no doubt that, especially since he couldn’t keep Snape away, he wanted to foster Harry’s other connections.

After the Headmaster left and Harry took a Sleeping Potion, she wandered to the window. Seeing a beetle with a distinctive mark, she quickly slammed down her hand to capture it. She left then in search of a jar. She felt her next step marked her break with childhood, sharing her secret with the adults rather than Harry or Ron.

The next morning, she intercepted Dumbledore before he could make his way to the High Table. She held up the jar in her hand showing him the fat beetle inside.

“Headmaster, I come bearing gifts. I want to fight for Harry.” She knew he’d hear more than the surface words—that she meant far more than the fight against Voldemort. She wanted Harry free of the hold Snape had over him.

Dumbledore’s slow nod was a call to arms.

* * *


	5. Fifth Year: The Order of the Phoenix

**Chapter Five**

Fifth Year: The Order of the Phoenix

~o0o~

 

Hermione Granger spotted a familiar face at Hogsmeade station. Snape peered over the crowd of students like a predator overlooking prey … or like a sheepdog? Certainly they all had felt his sharp teeth nipping at heel and haunch, his just-as-sharp bark. That was the way, after all, of the dog protecting the flock. She chuckled, picturing Snape as an Old English Sheepdog Animagus, black and white with hair hiding his face.

Her laughter died; Harry wouldn’t appreciate her likening Snape in any way to Sirius, who’d been a dog Animagus. She felt a pang, even if more for Harry than on her own behalf. She’d thought Sirius couldn’t see past James when he’d looked at Harry any more than Snape did.

She had hated how he’d encouraged Harry to be reckless or the sneering way he’d refer to Snape as “Snivellus.” It made it hard to comfort Harry. The words would fade on her tongue before she could speak them, shouted down by cries of “hypocrite.”

Knowing she’d only get a growl from Snape if she were lucky, she threaded her way to him anyway. She thought his face softened for a moment when he saw her, his lips quirking upwards before settling on a sneer. She’d often seen that fleeting expression on Snape since he’d gone back to spy on Voldemort. It was as if it was becoming harder for Snape to slap the mask on in off-hours, leaving it slightly askew.

She knew the toll the Occlumency lessons had taken on Harry, the whole Umbridge mess. She couldn’t guess how much it might have taken out of Snape on top of dancing with the devil as he did. He was so much older than Harry and had learned to hide his emotions so much better. And she didn’t have a friend’s right to pry him open.

“Why, Miss Granger, not afraid your very approach will suck away points from Gryffindor?”

“I have faith you can be fair when no one’s looking.”

“Ah, faith: the profession of belief without proof—many would say belief in what doesn’t even exist. So, what now: a confession, another apology? I can’t imagine what you’ve done this time—other than forget to duck.”

No, he wouldn’t reproach her for lack of faith, for her not thinking, or pressing Harry to think, of going to Snape in those frantic hours when they’d tried to reach Sirius. Because faith and trust wasn’t something he expected from anyone. Part of her resentfully wondered if that was because he was so unwilling to extend it himself, but she wasn’t here to give voice to that. And she thought then of something else Snape never got—but should.

“No, instead, for all you’ve done and tried to do to protect us, for all you’re still doing and will continue to do … thank you.”

She waited for him to tear at her for her presumption.

As she began to walk away, she heard a soft, “You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

Hermione Granger choked down her urge to kick and scream like a child. Her tight control made her voice quietly cold. She stared at Dumbledore, feeling Ron’s hand grip her shoulder.

“No ‘Marriage Law’ the Ministry passes shall ever cause me to marry Snape. I’d slit my own throat first. Even Malfoy—son or father—would be preferable.”

McGonagall stood by Dumbledore, placing her own hand on his shoulder, mirroring Hermione and Ron. Dumbledore sighed, pushing up his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “There is another solution. Though you can legally marry at sixteen, the law requires the consent of your parents until age twenty-one.”

“My parents are dead.” Her throat tightened so much she could barely breathe, though at least she didn’t cry. The well of her tears had dried up long ago. She forced herself to raise her cup of tea to her lips and swallowed, almost scalding her tongue. “You don’t think … because of this … ”

“I don’t know, but I would not put anything past the people we are facing. It may be so. But I spoke of a solution. As long as you are in school, I am your guardian, and I can and will refuse this. If you allow me to formalise our relationship, to adopt you, I can extend my protection for four years more. I can understand if you’d consider that a betrayal of your parents—”

“Done.”

“There’s another reason I have called you and Mister Weasley here, something we’ve decided you must know.”

Hermione was shocked to hear that according to prophecy, his scar had marked Harry as Voldemort’s equal, as ‘the Chosen One,’ and that one of them “must die at the hand of the other.”

Ron frowned. “You’re telling us, but not Harry. Because one must kill the other doesn’t mean one is good and the other evil—just that they’re both tremendously powerful. You don’t trust Harry.”

“Given the hold Professor Snape has over Harry, I can’t afford to.”

“What hold does Snape have over you—why not just sack him?” Ron asked.

“For the same reason we couldn’t just sack Umbridge. Snape is a powerful wizard in his own right—note how he has been able to teach Harry to close his mind to Voldemort, and he has powerful protectors, such as his business partner Lucius Malfoy. And I actually rather prefer having him where I can see him. Given his hatred of Harry’s father, I never foresaw this particular danger.”

“Where does that leave us?” Hermione asked.

“With a great deal of work since we fight on two fronts. If we could prove the rumours that Snape is a half-blood, that could weaken his influence with his peers—and remove the threat of this unwanted alliance. As for Voldemort, I wish I had a spy in his camp; it could have made a great deal of difference, but as it stands … have either of you heard of Horcruxes?”

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** For those who don’t know, the **[_“Marriage Law”_](http://groups.yahoo.com/group/whenikissedtheteacher/files/The%20Marriage%20Law/)** is from a pre-HBP **[_WIKTT_](http://groups.yahoo.com/group/whenikissedtheteacher/)** challenge that’s spawned over a hundred fanfics: The Ministry, to stop dangerous inbreeding, passes a law under which “any Pureblood wizard or male head of a Pureblood family can petition for a betrothal contract giving them legal power over a Muggleborn witch.”


	6. Sixth Year: The Half-Blood Prince

**Chapter Six**

Sixth Year: The Half-Blood Prince

~o0o~

 

Hermione Granger stood in the courtyard watching Snape. He had halted, standing stock still before breaking into a wide smile. She followed his gaze to Katie Bell and realised this must be the first time he’d seen the girl since she’d come back. She knew Katie owed her life to Snape. She thought that if Harry and Ron could see Snape now, even they would find it hard to see him as someone on the side of the Dark. Her throat constricted as he quickly melted back into the shadows before others could see him. Would he never be able to have any of the good he’d done appreciated in the light of day?

She followed him to his office, shutting the door behind her and catching up to him at his desk.

“I can see right through you,” she said, keeping her voice casual.

He crossed his arms and perched on his desk and smirked as if to say, “Well, this will be amusing.” She couldn’t stop herself. She kissed him.

His lips were soft and warm under hers, opening as she pressed against them, driving from him a low moan. She tangled her hands in his hair, which felt soft to her touch, only to have him grasp her wrists and firmly push her away. He then released her to cup her chin with a hand, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His voice sounded hoarse, his breathing ragged. “I take it you have had one of those idiotic Love Potions put into your pumpkin juice as a prank. I have the antidote in the storeroom. The only other possible explanations being that this is your idea of a joke or some ploy to make Ronald Weasley jealous.”

“Or that I care about you, care about what happens to you. I’ve been sick with worry ever since you took the cursed D.A.D.A. position. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Frankly, yes. You don’t know me, and what little you have seen could hardly have been endearing.”

“I know you’re brave and brilliant and loyal and—”

“—have little patience for this conversation.” But he kept tracing her jaw with his fingers, as if reluctant to pull away completely. The calluses on his fingers made him real, sent a warm tingle radiating through her entire body. She couldn’t stop herself from leaning into the touch. He sighed and dropped his hand. “Thank you for your … sympathy. I hope you will be happy in all your future endeavours.” He left her standing frozen by his desk. “Should you need it, the offer of an antidote stands.” He stood for a moment by the doorway before fleeing his own office.

For a long time after he’d closed the door behind him, she just stood there, numbly tracing her lips with a finger. He had tasted delicious. She knew no potion to cure this. She’d even peeked, when Harry hadn’t been around, at the Prince’s Potions text looking for one.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger leaned against the wall of the staff room, sobbing while pushing down the impulse to cast an Unforgivable. Across from her, surrounded by grieving staff, was Snape—who she believed had murdered the man she’d seen as a second father.

 _I can see right through you_ , she thought, but dared not speak aloud. She refused to believe Harry was involved. She had to believe him when he said he remembered nothing. Why not? Snape was as expert in Memory Charms as in everything else. She’d herself awoken with no memory of how she’d been knocked out, the corpses of Luna and Professor Flitwick beside her.

Maybe she should take comfort that Harry lived. But if, as she suspected, Snape knew of the prophecy—and given all the articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about the “Chosen One,” he very well might—he’d need Harry to get rid of his rival.

Sprout laid a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Severus. Who’d have foreseen Malfoy as the author of such destruction? _Merlin_! Albus, Minerva, Filius, Hagrid, our young D.A.D.A. instructor, and all those children dead.”

“I should have known.” An artful tear coursed down his face. “My own House—still, I’m sorry I couldn’t have saved Draco. The way those Death Eaters turned on him … ”

“And yet,” Hermione said, “you alone managed to face them and remain alive to tell the tale.”

“I’m sure Albus and Minerva accounted for more than a few of the attackers—beyond that it was dumb luck.”

Or _Felix Felicis_ —assuming he had planned this with Draco all along and had known exactly when the Death Eaters would invade Hogwarts.

Ron had died last July. Now, she’d lost everyone else she could trust. Ron had taken it upon himself to wear the cursed ring housing one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes rather than allow Dumbledore to take the risk. Not even Pomfrey’s skill could save him. This year, Hermione had formed a defence study group when the current D.A.D.A. instructor proved as incompetent as Umbridge last year. Almost every single member had rallied to her call. And almost all of them lay dead, leaving her sick with grief and her conscience raw.

Dumbledore had cautioned them not to place all their hopes on Harry. Just because a prophecy said Harry could kill Voldemort, didn’t mean someone else couldn’t, too. Prophecy was too amorphous, he’d said, to be relied upon—one reason he’d been tempted to abolish study of the subject. The centaurs, acknowledged masters, didn’t think it possible to prophesise for something as petty as the lives of an entire generation of wizards—even centuries seemed trivial to them.

She wished she had that kind of perspective, but what she wished for more was a handy Dementor to give Snape the only kind of kiss she’d ever want to gift him with. Despite herself, she began to think of who was left in the Order. It wasn’t in her to ever give up.

* * *


	7. Seventh Year: The Dark Lord

**Chapter Seven**

Seventh Year: The Dark Lord

~o0o~

 

Hermione Granger raced back to the Great Hall where she’d last seen Snape. He’d been with a knot of his own Slytherins, students and alumni, who’d been doing their best to shield him as he cut a swathe through the Death Eater ranks.

She pushed to the back of her mind that she’d had to kill. She refused to think of those she’d seen fall. She filtered out the moans and weeping and sounds of retching. She ignored the stench of blood and the laceration on her cheek.

Ron was fine.

Harry was fine.

Voldemort was gone forever.

 _He_ had to be all right.

The night before, Snape had laughed bitterly at her profession that all would be well. “Is it like an Arithmancy equation for you then? Reduce the calculated numerical values of the vowels of a word to produce the Heart Number?”

“It can’t all have been for nothing,” she’d whispered back. Snape had taken such risks to protect people who only scorned him. He’d suffered being called a coward for the hardest thing any of them would ever have to do. Yet even after all the evidence Dumbledore had left to exonerate Snape, and after he’d been instrumental in finding the Horcruxes, he was still treated as a leper.

She’d rested her palm against his chest then to feel that steady heartbeat under her skin, her own heart racing with hope when he hadn’t immediately pulled away, but had covered her hand with his for a moment before leaving.

Suddenly, she spotted the group of Slytherins she’d been looking for by the improvised white cloth bands worn by some on the sleeves of their black robes. They’d been among the ranks of Death Eaters only hours before. She hadn’t been sure if they had turned because they’d calculated that Snape wouldn’t be anywhere but the winning side or because they’d felt protective towards their old Head of House.

She knew many of the Slytherins had truly cared about Snape as soon as she saw their stricken faces. She ignored the bitter “Mudblood” and “Gryffindor bitch” hurled at her and tried to push her way past their solid mass, but was blocked until a raw-sounding voice commanded them to let her through. Draco Malfoy rose from a crouched position, and it took only an instant looking at his crumpled, tear-streaked face to tell her all she needed to know.

But then all she had eyes for was the very still, black-clad form. She cried out his first name, which she had never had the chance before to speak aloud. She knelt down and smoothed the hair back from his face with hands that shook. Facing the truth that both sides of the moral equation didn’t balance this side of the veil, a low animal sound came from her throat.

Draco touched her arm, and she turned and hid her face against his shoulder. She felt him shudder then grab on tightly as if he’d hold on for life.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger stood in the Great Hall where Voldemort had been defeated. Held tightly by Crabbe and Goyle, she watched Snape cast a Sectumsempra on Harry.

Snape crouched down beside the dying boy, his hands folded, and spoke in his warm, friendly classroom tones.

“I thank you for your trust in me in retrieving the prophecy. Really, Harry, after all I taught you, did you think I could hear you were marked as his equal and let you live?”

Harry twisted his head from side to side in negation, not having strength for more.

_I don’t need a wand for this spell._

“Didn’t you know revenge is a dish best served cold? Though by all rights, I should be grateful. Your father and his friends made me who I am, after all.”

_Or my voice. I have Moody to thank for his tutelage in non-verbal spells._

“Where would I have been all these years without their cries of ‘Snivellus’ driving me on? Without the memory of pity in your mother’s eyes as they tilted me upside down?”

_And Tonks for teaching me the Last-strike Spell._

He’d know the spell. Feel it pulling at him. He would be able to see the life returning to Harry’s face. Snape knew his magic after all. It was akin to the last piece of magic Lily had performed. Hermione suspected Snape hadn’t cast _Avada Kedavra_ to avoid Voldemort’s fate at Lily’s hands.

_It’s an old spell. It takes time, and will, and deliberate calculation rather than a call of love and blood._

She felt the cone of power rise around her and push Crabbe and Goyle away from her, knew nothing but her will could stop this now.

He began to move towards her, a slow stalk.

_It’ll only cost my life._

“You don’t want to do this, girl. Don’t you realise what I can offer with a place by my side? I have the Philosopher’s Stone. Do you realise what that can give? Without paying Riddle’s price? Eternal youth, beauty, life, riches beyond your wildest dreams, and all the power that it can buy.”

She felt her eyes widen, and he smirked in response. It was probably the most honest expression she’d ever seen from him. It all made sense now: the power he’d accumulated that had given him the ability to make the Ministry do his bidding and shape abominations like the Marriage Law; a face that had gained not one line, one grey hair, since she’d known him.

He laughed. “Yes? I always knew you were smart. You don’t think I ever bought that pure-blood rubbish, did you? We’re alike. Bright and dark both.”

_Shacklebolt even taught me Legilimency._

She could read in his eyes that he’d take his chances that he could win her over and wouldn’t kill her out of hand, but life on his terms didn’t tempt her.

She had the savage satisfaction of seeing fear replace desire in his eyes as she completed her last spell.

* * *

The End.


End file.
